She bent down to pet them.
“Thank you for that,” Luc told her. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time these devilish creatures see me, they try to bite a chunk out of my leg.”
The dogs were huge; they were meant for herding sheep, but gentle with children. She chuckled. “Mr. Lémy, they wouldn’t bite you. They must simply like you.”
“Believe me, Miss Beaulieu, they despise me.”
“Maybe you are a cat person.”
“Heavens, that sounds even worse. Horses, Miss Beaulieu, there’s a reliable animal. Put a bridle on it and enjoy a ride, that’s my kind of pet. Better yet, place them in front of a carriage and be done with it. Or a motorcar. That is a fine invention!”
He shook his head. Mr. Lémy and his brother Étienne were both brilliant creatures with their blond hair and their amicable smiles. Luc in particular was the portrait of the city dandy, his clothes always impeccable, looking as if he’d just shaved and gotten a haircut no matter what time of the day it was. He smoked tiny black cigarettes, which he carried in a silver case, and had a way of flattering every woman, no matter her age. Even her old aunts, reticent creatures, thought him a charming fellow.
“You can’t ride a motorcar here, Mr. Lémy. It would get stuck in the mud within five minutes flat.”
“You are correct about that,” he said, as if surveying the road that led to Oldhouse. “That is precisely why Loisail is the best city in the world. Who heard of a land without motorcars?”
“There are plenty of places without motorcars. Besides, you are going to Bosegnan.”
“Yes,” Luc said with a roll of his eyes. “Land of shellfish.”
“You, sir, are the worst man I’ve ever met. If you keep criticizing the countryside, I shan’t invite you back. Why, look at the sun. It shines wonderfully today. You wouldn’t deny it’s a marvelous day for a stroll. Who’d want to be stuck inside a motorcar?”
Luc scoffed and kicked a pebble away. “A marvelous day, no thanks. Two days ago I forgot to wear my hat when I went for a ride, and now look at my face. I look like an overcooked shrimp.”
“Nonsense,” she said.
“It is true. We are not all as lucky as you, who seem to glow every time a stray bit of sun touches your face. No, summer in Montipouret does not suit me.”
She almost felt like informing him that he’d have to stomach one more summer in the countryside, or at least a couple of summer days, since she believed the Lémys would be invited to her wedding the following year. The Beaulieus married in Oldhouse. Even Valérie had yielded to this custom. The civil ceremony had taken place in Loisail at the insistence of the bride, but the religious marriage had been outside, behind the house, with long tables covered with the whitest linen set for the wedding lunch. Nina recalled the excitement of that day and that she had been allowed to have a whole glass of wine for herself.
Valérie’s dress had been a thing of wonder. White silk and satin, a bridal veil of antique lace, a bouquet of white flowers in her hands, and a diamond fringe necklace that was expensive and extravagant. The people of Montipouret spoke of it months after the wedding had concluded. How Nina wanted this, the pomp, the toasts, her picture in the papers.
“Don’t despair, Mr. Lémy. Come now, come here,” Nina said, calling to the dogs as she went inside to ensure they would not follow him.
She walked into the kitchen, where the cook immediately chided her for having brought the infernal pups in with her, but Nina shrugged andthrew them a piece of sausage while she stole a piece of bread. Her mother insisted a proper breakfast consisted of a boiled egg a day, followed by a couple of slices of cheese, but Nina seldom complied with these instructions.
Nina went up to her room and fell upon the bed, stretching her arms above her head. She dozed for a while, and when she woke she went around the room, looking at the reading material piled by her bed. Her horrid habit of leaving books here and there was obvious to any casual observer, and the maids often complained they could not dust properly because Nina hoarded too many volumes and she grumbled if they took them back to their shelves.
Nina grabbed two books and decided she should return this pair to the library as a gesture of goodwill.
Soon enough she reached her destination and opened the door.
She saw Hector and Valérie standing in the middle of the library, but at first she thought it couldn’t be them. They were kissing, his arms entwined around her, and Valérie’s lips rose to meet him, like a flower turning toward the sun, and he held on to her tight.
Nina thought she had a fever dream, such as when she was seven and had spent a whole night writhing in pain. Why, that couldn’t be Valérie. Why, that couldn’t be Hector.
A book slipped from her hands, and when it crashed against the floor she realized, wide-eyed, this was real. This was happening.
They both looked at her.
She’d read about hearts breaking in books, and it had seemed a curious business to her because it was physiologically impossible for a heart to crack like a piece of porcelain. But now Nina felt pain, actual physical pain assaulting her as if someone had thrust a dagger into her flesh, and it hurt so badly, she did not know if she could remember how to breathe. This, too, was a physical impossibility. Breathe she must, and yet she stood like a woman drowning, her breath burning her throat, caught in her mouth.
Unwittingly, she sent several atlases and volumes of poetry flying against the floor.
Finally she was able to breathe, gulping, like a swimmer breaking through the surface of the water. Nina turned around and hurried out of the library.
She moved with rapid, almost noiseless steps, a hand pressed against her stomach.
